


Sparks Fly in the Dark Night

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alive Hales, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Nobody Dies, Prophetic Dreams, The Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), but that doesn't count, implied kissing, well Kate probably does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 02:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: Stiles has dreams about a burning house and now he's standing in the preserve in the middle of the night





	Sparks Fly in the Dark Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryvon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryvon/gifts).



> For Gryvon  
> I hope you (and everybody else) will enjoy this story
> 
> Stiles is 18 or 19 in this; but if I've forgotten some tags or the rating is off let me know and I'll change it.
> 
> Graciously beta'd by the ever lovely Senna, all remaining mistakes are mine
> 
> Kudos, comments and constructive critism welcome

_He doesn’t know where he is, but he knows he’d prefer to be anywhere else. The room’s dark around him but he’s still able to make out the forms of several other people trapped here with him. A roar sounds from the upper levels of the house, the ceiling creaks and it feels like it’s getting warmer. A cough sounds close to him, the humans (aren’t they all humans?) without their enhanced healing are suffering from smoke inhalation; it’ll hit **them** , too, it’ll just take longer._

_Like him the other adults are looking for a way out, the children quiet except the youngest, crying in her brother’s arms where he’s hunched protectively over her. A voice sounds from outside - he can’t make out the words - answered by a woman’s laughter; he wants slash her throat, watch the light leave her eyes and listen to her heart slowly stopping. She set the fire, trapped him - trapped his **family** \- behind lines of mountain ash, doesn’t care about the children or the fact that they’ve never hurt a human. She’s going to be the first._

Stiles wakes to the unpleasant feeling of trying to cough up his own lungs; quickly - it’s the tenth time he has had this dream, by now he knows what to expect - he reaches for the bowl he left on his night stand in case this would happen.

When he’s finally able to breathe freely the bowl’s covered in black mucus and his body feels as if he’s just stepped out of the boxing ring without being able to block even one punch. His door remains closed, a sure sign his dad’s still on shift, which means he’ll have to get a glass of water by himself.

In his current state Stiles probably should stick to the glass on his desk and the faucet in the upstairs bathroom but before he’s out the bed his stomach makes itself known by growling loudly. He’s wearing pyjama pants, but the night air is cool against his bare chest so he grabs the hoodie he’d thrown onto the desk chair earlier, pulling it over his head while making his way to the stairs. Stiles manages the descent without injuring himself, quite the feat usually and even more so with his legs being a little unsteady and his hands slightly shaking.

He spends too long in front of the open fridge unable to decide what he wants to eat. With a sigh he closes the door before reaching for a glass, deciding that while he waits for inspiration to strike he should get something to drink.

Stiles is in the middle of turning from the sink, glass halfway to his mouth for the first zip of water

_a woman’s quiet laugh_

when the world comes to a sudden stop. He’s never had this dream

_the smell of gasoline sends a jolt of satisfaction through her_

while awake. He doesn’t notice the glass falling to the floor, the shards flying every which way, but before a single one of them can pierce his skin, he’s gone.

He stumbles, the ground hard under his naked feet, and are those _rocks_ biting into his skin? Stiles doesn’t get the time to contemplate how he got from his dad’s kitchen to the preserve in two seconds as this is when someone bumps into him.

There’s a gun in her already raised hand but before she can pull the trigger there’s a sound that is more like the absence of noise than actual sound and she’s gone. Stiles doesn’t know where, doesn’t really care either because now he can hear the flames and smell the smoke from the burning house.

This is what he saw the very first time he dreamt about the burning house: Two stories tall in the middle of the preserve, the porch gone and the flames making their way through the walls to get inside. Stiles lets his spark search for an exit only to be met with a familiar barrier; with a smile he breaks the mountain ash line preventing the werewolves to escape.

With the mountain ash gone the werewolves trapped inside are able to get the door open and stumble into the cool night air. Stiles is vaguely aware there’s a young woman calling the fire department but most of his attention is focused on the man who was the first to stumble outside.

He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a light brown v-neck sweater, his face is soot streaked, hair sticking every which way and Stiles is struck speechless by the gorgeousness of him. There’s movement in the corner of his eye and reluctantly he pulls his eyes from the man. startling when he realizes he stands face to face with Talia Hale, alpha of the Hale pack, protectors of Beacon Hills.

Stiles begins to bow, then remembers he’s supposed to bare his neck; he ends up looking ridiculous, but that’s nothing new, so once her eyes stop glowing red he reaches out his hand.

“Eum,” he says slightly embarrassed. She looks him in the eyes for a long moment before foregoing the handshake and pulling him into a warm embrace. Stiles isn’t ashamed to admit he melts into it; Talia Hale is as good a hugger as his dad - and Sheriff Stilinski would take the gold if hugging was an olympic sport.

Their hugging session is interrupted when the rest of the Hales move closer, suspicion on some of the adults’ faces, the children clinging to them with all their might. The woman who’d called the fire department has grabbed the arm of the guy who looks enough like her to be her twin - Stiles swallows nervously when he catches the dude’s eyes, his entire being is radiating anger. Thankfully for Stiles’ peace of mind V-neck decides to join the party, moving closer to Stiles and Talia, shielding him from the two siblings.

“You must be Stiles,” and god, if V-neck keeps talking to him in that voice he can be just about anybody. There’s a chuckle and Stiles can feel his face transforming into a tomato because of course he had to say that out loud.

“Or you can call me Peter,” the man practically purrs in his ear. Stiles isn’t really capable of making sounds so he simply nods his agreement against the side of the man’s face.

They stand there for probably an inappropriately long time before V-neck - Peter, he reminds himself - takes a step back when Talia says his name with just a hint of alpha in her voice. In any other circumstance Stiles would be asking questions but right now he just makes a disgruntled sound at losing Peter’s warmth. Then the whole thing is ruined by the sound of sirens and fire fighters yelling at each other.

Long before the fire trucks leave, the ambulances and the police have stopped by. Stiles, having forgotten his dad was on shift, almost trips over his own feet in his haste to get to the man as soon as he’s out of the cruiser. The sheriff’s raised voice informs him to never scare him like that again and if somebody’s trying to burn down a house he calls the fire department and the police rather than go head first into danger. Stiles doesn’t get a chance to defend himself - he’s not sorry of what happened but he didn’t really have a choice in the matter either - before he’s pulled into yet another bone crushing hugs and he has to revise his earlier assessment: His dad’s definitely the better hugger.

~

Afterwards, Peter pops up _everywhere_. At Deaton’s when Stiles is studying, at the end of the school day under the pretense of picking up Cora (despite the fact she’s driving Laura’s camaro while she’s in New York). Sometimes Stiles goes to the library and when he stretches for the first time in four hours he’ll look up and Peter is there; he’s at the diner when the lacrosse team is celebrating a victory and at the ice cream stand when Scott needs to eat his sorrows away.

For a week Stiles tries to catch the man and ask him why he’s stalking him, but Peter’s unfairly good at dodging his every attempt. Then Talia shows up at Deaton’s to have a talk with him.

“The Hale pack doesn’t have an emissary as you’re probably aware of.” Stiles nods, if they did they wouldn’t have needed someone like him to help them the night of the fire.

“I want to ask you, as Alpha of the Hale pack, if you would consider doing us the honor of becoming ours?”

Stiles gapes at her, wondering if this is some kind of joke, then realizes no alpha would joke about these things, her owes her to do the same. He closes his eyes confident she won’t take it as an offense and turns his gaze inside, to the place where his spark resides warm and bright filling every cavity in him. It’s reaching towards her, further out in the direction of her pack; his spark separates into tendrils of power, one glowing red wrapping around Talia, the others the same yellow as the eyes of the betas they encase.

The spark has grown since the fire, as if it was always here he’s meant to be, but before Stiles can agree he notices there’s still a tendril looking for someone to wrap around, the color reminding him of Peter’s eyes and the thought is barely through his mind before it closes around the man and with the absence of noise Stiles is once more - and without input from him - transported halfway across town, into a bed that’s definitely not the twin he got out of this morning.

His sudden arrival startles Peter into his betashift, but once he realizes it’s Stiles the fangs and claws retreat only to be replaced by a smirk.

“I guess that means your dad owes me ten bucks.” And really, how can Stiles do anything but kiss him senseless.


End file.
